


more important things

by excentricAnthropologist



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Smut, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3418094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excentricAnthropologist/pseuds/excentricAnthropologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Brynjolf's Guildmaster has to convince him to take a break from work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	more important things

The light that illuminates the Cistern is silver. Bright moonlight shines down from the skylight in the ceiling, bathing the spacious hall in pale luminescence. Most of the torches lining the Cistern’s walls were put out several hours ago by retiring members of the Guild, save for a few sconces next to the table where Brynjolf sits, scribbling numbers down onto a piece of parchment.

Brynjolf had known that the Guild’s luck would return once the business with Mercer Frey and Nocturnal was put to rest, but he hadn’t expected it to return with such ferocity. The Guild is busier than he’s seen it since he first joined years ago, and the amount of work has increased in turn. Jobs are being dealt out daily; inventory is being tracked on an hourly basis; and of course, security has had to be tightened as a result of the Guild’s newfound prosperity.

It’s enough to drive one mad.

Not that Brynjolf isn’t grateful for the Guild’s success, of course he is. The return of the Skeleton Key had secured a future for every member of the group of thieves he’s proud to call his family, and that’s given him a sense of peace he hasn’t felt in a long time.

But bloody hell, is it too much to ask for a blasted _break_ every once in awhile?

The sound of footsteps draws Brynjolf from his reverie, and he looks up to see Ingrid enter the Cistern from the Flagon, flaxen hair shining in the moonlight. She’s a vision in her black Guildmaster’s armor, and Brynjolf finds it hard to tear his eyes away from the swing of her hips to look back down at the stock lists in front of him.

He hears her draw nearer, and Brynjolf knows that she’s going to pull the same routine she’s followed every night for the past fortnight; she’ll pull up a chair, prop her feet up on the table, and proceed to inquire about everything that happened in the Guild today.

Sometimes his workload is light enough that he’s able to chat with her while he fills out forms and adds up coin, but more often than not he finds that he just isn’t able to indulge her, and has to send her on her way, much to his own disappointment.

Tonight is one of those nights, and Brynjolf sighs as Ingrid’s footsteps reach him, opening his mouth to give her the same excuse as always:

“Sorry lass, I’ve got important things…”

His words are cut off when Ingrid slips between the table and his chair, looking down at him with an enigmatic smirk on her face. She reaches out and trails her hand along his jawline, running her thumb along his bottom lip, and Brynjolf realizes that he’s stopped breathing.

“Do you?” she asks, voice low and mischevious. “Do you _really_?” Her hand trails lower, fingertips grazing his throat and collarbone. Brynjolf swallows, and Ingrid grins, eyes flashing.

“There’s _nothing_ I can do to take your mind off of work?” She’s closer now, practically straddling Brynjolf’s lap, and her hand has begun snaking its way down his front while the other winds itself in his hair. She gives a sharp tug, and Brynjolf gasps as his head is forced back and he meets Ingrid’s heavy-lidded gaze.

She leans down to brush her lips against his jaw, her breath hot against his skin, and Brynjolf can hear the blood pumping in his ears, his heart is beating so fast. Her mouth follows the line of his jaw up to his ear, and Brynjolf’s whole body shivers when she whispers, low and hungry: “ _Nothing_?”

Brynjolf tries and fails to suppress a groan when Ingrid’s hand slips underneath the band of his trousers, her palm pressing up against his cock. He feels her smirk as she wraps her hand around him. “Already hard, Brynjolf? My, my, you _do_ need a break.”

“Lass…” he begins, trying to find the breath to tell her that he really _does_ have a lot to get done, but his words are drowned out by the sudden presence of her mouth on his. All thoughts of work flee his mind when she begins to stroke him, and a bite to his lower lip releases a growl from deep in his throat.

“Mmm, I _knew_ you just needed a little persuading,” Ingrid murmurs, and she laughs as his hands come up to grip her more tightly against him. She smiles against his lips and increases the pressure of her hand. “You know I’ve been so lonely these past few weeks; I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” She kisses him deeply and runs her fingers along the back of his hairline. “Your mouth, your hands, your cock…”

Her wrist turns sharply and she presses a thumb to the head of his cock, earning a sharp intake of breath from him. “I’ve wanted you _so_ badly, Brynjolf,” she breathes low in his ear, pressing her body hard against his. He can feel the press of her breasts through his shirt, and he lowers one of his hands to grip her ass.

She smiles and, much to Brynjolf’s horror, pulls away, releasing her hold on him. He begins to protest, but she silences him with a finger to his lips.

“Shh, don’t fret,” she purrs, smiling devilishly. “I’ve something even better in mind.”

Brynjolf’s eyes widen as Ingrid lowers herself between his legs, settling herself on her knees as she begins to unlace the front of his trousers. He knows that he should probably stop her and propose that they go somewhere more private, but the fervor in her eyes and the heat in his body have him planted firmly in his seat, and he watches with growing lust as she frees his cock from his trousers.

Ingrid looks up at him through half-lidded eyes as she wraps her fist around the base of his cock and grazes the head with her lips. “Tell me what you want,” she whispers, her breath making him twitch with anticipation.

His hands grip the sides of his chair as he spreads his knees. “I want you to suck my cock.” It’s a plea, not a demand, and Ingrid’s eyes light up at the sound. “Please,” he groans, one of his hands coming forward to grip the base of her skull. “I need…”

He doesn’t get to finish, for his breath is drawn out of him when Ingrid pulls his cock into the wet heat of her mouth and begins to suck. Brynjolf curses and throws his head back as her mouth moves, his voice hoarse with pleasure.           

Somewhere in the back of his mind Brynjolf knows that someone could walk into the Flagon at any moment and see him with their Guildmaster’s mouth around his cock, but then Ingrid runs her tongue firmly along the underside, and all thoughts flee his mind.

Ingrid hums and Brynjolf bites his lip to stifle his moans. She chuckles and draws him in deeper, hollowing her cheeks, and it’s not long before Brynjolf finds himself coming harder than he has in a long time, crying out something incomprehensible as Ingrid drinks him down.

Brynjolf’s still gasping when Ingrid finally lets him go, a satisfied smile on her face. She tucks him back into his trousers and wipes her mouth, standing up to stare him down with a hand on her hip.

“Don’t think I don’t expect you to return the favor, Brynjolf,” she says with a toss of her head, her wild hair framing her face like a mane. “We take care of each other here, don’t we?”

Try as he might, Brynjolf can’t seem to find words to respond with, and she smiles and turns around, making her way towards the Guildmaster’s chambers. She looks back over her shoulder, beckoning him forward with one finger.

He follows.

* * *

 

Being a Guildmaster has its perks, Ingrid thinks as she clutches the frame of her bed, back bowed over Brynjolf’s head as he licks into her. A personal chamber makes fucking in private hell of a lot easier, though she’s not sure that what they’re doing is very private anymore, what with the amount of noise she’s making.

 _Though it’s a foolish thief indeed who decides to ask about his Guildmaster’s sex life_ , Ingrid thinks with a laugh that turns into a moan when Brynjolf increases the speed of his tongue and pulls her closer. His fingers dig into the small of her back as Ingrid rolls her hips, fucking Brynjolf’s face in earnest, and she pants his name and pulls his hair until she comes with a scream that has him groaning against her.

Her breathing eventually slows, and she laughs, shifting away to settle herself on Brynjolf’s hips. She leans forward and kisses Brynjolf soundly, tasting herself on his tongue.

He’s hard again, and Ingrid wants to reward him for a job _very_ well done, so she draws away to lower herself onto his cock, reveling in the desperate sound he makes as he throws his head back and clutches at her thighs.

She smiles down at Brynjolf as she rides him, palms flat against his chest, and lifts and lowers her hips until she finds a rhythm that suits her, grinding hard against her subordinate as he gasps and curses underneath her.

She comes just before he does, and they ride out their climaxes together, hissing curses and praises into the darkness until they’re both breathless and panting.

Ingrid slides off Brynjolf’s lap to press herself against his side. She brushes his long hair out of his face, stroking his cheek with the backs of her knuckles, and leans in to kiss him.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and his arms wrap around her waist, holding her close.

“Sometimes I forget that Guildmaster knows best,” Brynjolf chuckles, and Ingrid grins.

“I’ll have Delvin do your work for you tomorrow,” she says, settling into the sheets and closing her eyes. “He could do with some extra work.” Brynjolf laughs and kisses the top of her head.

“Aye, lass,” he whispers, breath warm against her hair, and Ingrid listens to the sound of his heartbeat as she falls into one of the deepest sleeps she’s had since Helgen.


End file.
